


L'Amour Est Bleu

by Riennynn



Category: British Actor RPF, Doctor Who RPF, Torchwood RPF
Genre: Humor, M/M, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 06:12:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riennynn/pseuds/Riennynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John thinks he's almost ready to get past the blue construction tarp lining the shower walls.  What finally gets Scott to complete the tiling?</p>
            </blockquote>





	L'Amour Est Bleu

**Author's Note:**

  * For [parapraxis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/parapraxis/gifts).



> A short work of RPF inspired by John's complaints about the shower in their London flat. Takes place sometime before their marriage in July of 2013.
> 
> This is imaginative writing with details drawn from John's autobiographies, convention panels, interviews, and TwitCast videos :) John and Scott belong to each other.

If there were three things about Scott Gill that John knew he could count on, they were: (1) insisting that fish sticks were an important part of the nutritional pyramid, (2) consistent "borrowing" of John's shirts and shoes, and (3) taking a sledgehammer to any wall that personally offended his vision of their dwellings.  

The first was a culinary quirk he'd grown to love and indulge, buying the frozen things by the five pound bag at Costco.  Scott never seemed to put on unwanted weight no matter what he ate, and if John was feeling down the arrival of a freshly microwaved plate of breaded fish always made him smile.

The second, while occasionally aggravating when Scott took them  _before_ John had a chance to cut the tags off, wasn't really a problem.  He admitted to a certain smug possessiveness seeing his polos and tees stretched over those broad shoulders and well defined chest.  

The third was the most genuinely irksome.  Any walls that came down were, he had to admit, inevitably much better off for being gone when the work was complete.  John wasn't sure whether it was an itchy architect's hands or his partner's insistence on improvement that led to the destruction and reconstruction.  Either way, it generally resulted in exposed beams, clouds of dust settling into the folds of the pillowcases, and detours around the construction zone until everything returned to normal.

In their London flat, the wall formerly separating the entry hall and lounge was long gone.  That wasn't the problem.  Rather, the en suite bathroom in the master bedroom was still a work in progress a decade on.  John was beyond tired of seeing blue every time he brushed his teeth, used the toilet, or - worst of all - took a shower.  Blue crinkly, rustly construction tarp.  Tarp that required one hand to support it while in the shower to prevent the steam from pulling it off the unfinished wall.  Tarp that eventually built up mildew and God knows what else until Scott gave in and replaced it.

******

"Just put something there, Scottie," John (almost) pleaded over coffee and toast at the breakfast table.

"Mmmm," Scott hummed into the morning paper.  "Did we agree on what color?"

The crust John was shredding missed the edge of the table, bounced off his knee, and landed on the floor.  The dogs immediately scrambled for it, and in the ensuing chaos Scott pinched John's bum where he crouched half-under the table, grabbed his workbag, and was out the door.  Between rehearsals and calls to his manager, the morning conversation was quite forgotten by dinner time.

******

"The tarp is growing something on the bottom corner.  I'm pretty sure it's alien."  John emphasized his question with a well-placed poke.

Tousled dark blond hair emerged from under the edge of the duvet followed by a long-fingered hand pushing it back until his partner blinked sleepily at him.  "You're spending too much time on Doctor Who, John.  Whatever it is, it's perfectly terrestrial."

"What if it starts attacking us in our sleep?"  He edged the duvet down further, refusing to let Scott burrow back underneath.

"I'm pretty sure your Elmo pajamas will repel it."

The tickle war following that comment led to much pleasanter things.  By the time the duvet and all the pillows made it back onto the bed, there was nothing left to do but drift into the sleep of the very well-satisfied.

******

"Carole says we should put up polished marble."

Silence from the other couch punctuated by the narrator droning on about World War II plane engines.

John grabbed the remote and hit Mute.  The television immediately switched to closed captioning, and Scott continued to ignore him, intently reading the words as they marched across the bottom of the screen.

"I don't care what color it is, you know.  Just pick something."

Scott leaned closer, squinting at the inside of some large mechanical object as the camera panned across.

"Tell your sister that marble is horrifically porous and I'm not going to refinish it every time the water etches it."

"I'm going to start showering in the garden with the hose."

Scott snatched the remote back.

"You already did that for a photoshoot.  And in the dead of winter?  You'll catch pneumonia."

The sound came back on, a good two notches higher in volume.  John huffed and headed off to the kitchen for a drink.

******

Three weeks later, a shower seemed like the perfect solution for overworked muscles and a tired voice.  He left Scott frowning over a set of plans, dropped his clothes lazily in the hamper, and stepped into the shower.  One glance to automatically check that the tarp wasn't going to collapse while he shampooed, then he closed his eyes and let the hot water cascade over his face.  By the time John was finished lathering up, the tarp was starting to wilt forward, curling dangerously close to the shower head.

"I'm going to use a damn staple gun this time," he muttered, holding it in place.  Rinsing with one hand occupied - with this particular task - was not high on his list of enjoyable shower activities.  Turning towards the wall to let the spray reach his shoulderblade, the elbow of the arm presently occupied nudged the soap dish just enough to unbalance the bar and send it tumbling to the floor right as a draft of cooler air signaled that John was no longer alone.

"I thought we were past the 'I dropped the soap' excuse by this point in our relationship?'  Two meters of gloriously naked Englishman smirked at him from the other side of the drain before crouching down and leaning towards the errant bar.

Despite all attempts to reinforce his frown, Scott on his knees always caused blood to rush south from John's brain.  Especially when he made a show of searching for the soap, "accidentally" groping John as he put out a hand to steady himself.  Those long, elegant, clever fingers tightened as he leaned closer, peering up through the water droplets clinging to his eyelashes.  Scott licked his lips and smiled a positively wicked grin.  "Hmm, is this the soap?  Certainly feels solid.  Suppose I'll have to taste it to see."  

 The back of John's head thudded against the tarp, annoyance vanishing with it.  He smiled towards the ceiling as the man on his knees before him proceeded to demonstrate exactly what was hiding below the sweetly crowd shy exterior.

Just as he was in danger of drowning - gasping open-mouthed under a running shower was never a good idea, but who remembered that when shower sex was on the menu? - he found himself abruptly whirled around to face the wall, barely remembering to slap the flat of his hand against the godforsaken tarp as it curled down again.  Something delightfully familiar in its firmness and size was tucked between water-slick thighs and the clever fingers returned to dance over his hip.  

"Tottie, I swear, if you don't-"  

John's threat went the way of his earlier annoyance as those fingers slipped lower and teeth latched onto the side of his neck.

Slip.  Slide.  Scott's breath huffed across his throat, water raining down on them both.

Fingers twined with his on the wall and John used his free hand to reach back and slap the muscular thigh flexing behind him.

"Oh God, I'm close..."

Fingers flexing.  A sloppy, perfect kiss.  Eyes squeezing shut.

Crashing over the edge within moments of each other.

Fingers tugging, sliding down the wall.  Bodies collapsing bonelessly to the floor of the shower.

Harsh breathing.  Eyes opening.

A slithering sound and flash of blue.

As the water turned cold, beating down on the tarp now covering the two men, a heavy silence descended.

A hand batted its way out from under the tarp and dialed the shower off.

"Umm.  John."

Silence.

"John?"

The tarp on the perpendicular wall chose that moment to detach and flutter down.  Scott wasn't sure whether to wrap his arms around John or fight his way out from under the blue plastic and flee.  Surely he wouldn't be pursued naked into the street?

On second thought...

"I'll uhhh, order the tile first thing in the morning?"  He turned, shuffling plastic over his shoulder.  

A hand closed on his ankle followed by violent rustling.  "Scott."

"And we can get marble, sure, I meant marble-"

"You know you're the love of my life, don't you?"  

He paused, halfway out, sprawled over the threshold of the shower at the apparent non sequitur.  "Yes, of course...?"

Normally, a soaking wet John would lead to a salacious grin and probably round two.  Tonight, however, he wondered if he would be on the couch.

The third tarp shifted ominously.

John blew out a breath and chuckled weakly, laying on the floor and watching as it peeled forward. 

"Just make sure it isn't blue."

******

FIN

 

 

 


End file.
